


Only My Hands to Guide Me

by Lauren (notalwaysweak)



Category: Newsflesh Trilogy - Mira Grant
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 15:43:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2030709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalwaysweak/pseuds/Lauren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set post-Blackout and therefore is spoilery for the series in general. Shaun's got two sisters now and that means negotiations have to be made.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only My Hands to Guide Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [umadoshi (Ysabet)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ysabet/gifts).



> Newsflesh characters do not belong to me and I am making no financial profit from this work of fan fiction. The title is from Vienna Teng's 'Now Three', which is probably not about what I keep insinuating it's about.
> 
> Seanan, if and when you read this, I am anything but sorry.
> 
> Thanks ever so much to Ysa for her excellent beta!
> 
> * * *

I hadn’t realized just how much strain there was between my dead sister and my clone sister until we were alone together, just the three of us, in the middle of nowhere. By then it was too late to find a therapist, even assuming a therapist existed who’d agree to mediate between a guy and two different versions of his sister. Although they might have done it for the novelty value. Especially when they found out about the sex.

It hit home when we were on the front porch of the cabin in – well, it doesn’t matter where. I’d gone inside to refill my coffee, and when I came back out, George was looking up at the sky. Such a simple thing, but it made George in my head snarly.

 _She’s not really me_ , she said with more petulance than I’d ever heard from her in life.

“I know,” I said softly.

George lowered her gaze from the dark brown pine branches, starkly etched against the clear pale sky. When she saw the way I had my head tilted, listening to her predecessor, she dropped her gaze to the bare boards of the porch.

“I know I’m not really her,” she said in an unwitting echo.

“Do you think I’d be out here alone with you if you weren’t at least close?”

She looked up at me, then, shocking me all over again with those clear brown eyes. “But we’re not alone, are we?”

 _You’d think she’d be used to it_ , George commented.

“No.” I was answering both of them.

No, I didn’t think George would be used to having her previous self there with her, behind my eyes.

No, George reborn and I were not alone.

Being a walking haunted house was one thing when your resident ghost was dead, but it was another thing altogether when she was alive. Or reincarnated. Although that wasn’t quite the right term. It was more like they were twin avatars of the one deity, like something out of one of the endless Dungeons and Dragons games Maggie’s Fictional buddies ran online.

George got up off the porch glider, put her arms around my neck and looked into my eyes.

“You’re going to have to learn to share,” she said.

It took me a moment to realize that she didn’t mean me, and by then I could feel a second set of arms winding around my waist from behind, twin exhalations on the nape of my neck and against my lips.

 _You know, I think I can manage that_. George sounded amused.

I was going to relay the remark, but then George was kissing me and I could feel her hands locked behind my neck and pressed against my stomach at the same time and speaking was physically impossible.

* * *

The three of us fit together on the bed, not like a puzzle, but like something that hadn’t been pulled apart in the first place.

I couldn’t open my eyes. I wasn’t afraid that _I_ wouldn’t be able to see both Georges; I was afraid that George wouldn’t be able to see _George_. But with those of us who had physical eyes keeping them shut, she could stay.

It was less awkward than it could have been. I guess that’s because when one third of a threesome is imaginary, it’s easier for them to get out of the way.

Imaginary or real, though, I could still feel them both. Very much so. I could feel her hands on my thighs pinning me down while her mouth worked on me – and I could feel her fingers dragging over my chest, pinching my nipples, rolling them between her fingers until I couldn’t figure out if I wanted to arch up against her hands or her mouth more.

“Greedy,” one of them said. I couldn’t tell which; couldn’t tell if I was hearing her voice inside  or outside my head.

(I was pretty sure it _wasn’t_ the one going down on me, due to circumstantial evidence, but I still didn’t know who was doing what.)

“Not fair. You’re ganging up on me.”

Both of them backed off simultaneously. “Better?”

“Not really.”

The mattress shifted under our weight as one of them moved to sit astride my hips and the other moved further up the bed.

“Come right up here,” I said, reaching for her and wishing that the act of licking my lips salaciously was audible.

Whichever of them took up the offer, she settled so that they were facing each other. If I couldn’t have figured it out from the position of her legs as she knelt astride my face – and I wasn’t _that_ far gone – I would have worked it out as soon as I reached up and touched her thighs, hands running over her skin. Was it ghost George, with the long-faded silver lines on her hips from puberty getting a little reckless with her skin, or clone George, whose body hadn’t gone through the same rigors? I didn’t know, and I didn’t care to check. The scent of her so close to my waiting lips and tongue was too much of a diversion.

“This is like some high school fantasy where the guy sleeps with the incredibly hot identical twin cheerleaders.”

One of them snickered. “Bullshit, Shaun. The only thing you fantasized about the cheerleaders doing in high school was simultaneously amplifying so you could study mob formations.”

“That’s cold,” I mumbled.

Then I felt her hand on my cock, guiding me into her warmth at the same time as the other her shifted down so that I could reach her with my tongue, and every word fled from my mind.

The only real problem was that I didn’t have enough hands. I wanted to touch them both everywhere, but there was too much everywhere. Not to mention that the brainpower required to keep my tongue and lips on target while I was being quite comprehensively fucked didn’t leave room for proper hand-clit coordination.

There was, though, about thirty seconds where everything came together and I had my mouth on her clit and one hand on her thigh, feeling her tensed muscles under my palm, and the other hand down between the other George’s legs, thumb pressed against _her_ clit. It was a long, drawn-out moment where I was incapable of so much as breathing in case it disrupted the delicate balance that the three of us had found.

I’m proud to say I wasn’t the one who set the dominoes tumbling. George’s thighs started shaking as she balanced over my face. It was a hell of a strong orgasm; she rode down so hard against my mouth that she nearly broke my nose. She wasn’t prone to being particularly loud, but I heard the beginning of a low moan–

–and then it was cut off by what was unmistakably a kiss.

 _That_ was what set me off, and I let go of both of them to dig my fingers into the quilt I lay on, because if I’d grabbed either of them as hard as my hands wanted to, even ghost George would have bruised. I was aware of George coming just after me, as if me coming had triggered her climax. It was a familiar feeling, tempered with the unfamiliarity of the soft sounds that she made being caught by somebody else’s mouth.

They both moved off me, settling either side of me. I lay back, catching my breath, vaguely thinking that whichever goddess it was they were avatars of, she had to have mindblowing sex somewhere in her portfolio.

It wasn’t a D&D reference I thought I’d share.

* * *

The three of us dozed for a while. Somewhere in there they both got up off the bed and I heard the bathroom door open and close. When they came back, only one of them lay down beside me; the other settled back into my head.

I wanted to ask them if they’d really been able to touch each other, or if the sound of that kiss had been in my imagination.

 _None of your business_ , George said.

“Well, excuse me for being curious,” I mumbled.

Beside me, George laughed. “A girl doesn’t kiss and tell, Shaun.”

I opened my eyes because, as much fun as touch and taste and hearing were, I liked being able to see her. To see her and know that when I reached out to touch her, my fingers wouldn’t go right through her. “You could at least _hint_.”

Her eyes were bright, and she shook her head, drawing her finger across her lips. Her silence was broken by a soft laugh from inside my head.

I was about to say something extraordinarily witty to both of them but, before I could actually think of it, there was an unsteady growl from outside. It rose in pitch and volume and then trailed off, fading into silence before it was repeated.

“Wolf,” George said, and rolled to her feet.

“Zombie?”

“Live ones don’t sound like they’ve gargled maggots.”

She had a point.

I dragged my jeans on as fast as I could and yanked a sweater over my head but, as fast as I was, George was faster. She had her boots on and was darting out to the front room, gun in hand, before I’d finished jamming my feet into my own boots. I heard the rattle of the front door chain as she cracked the door to peek outside.

It was probably good that she’d gone ahead of me; with her there I don’t know if I would have seen what I saw, what I noticed on the bed just before I chased after her.

There were three head-shaped indentations on the pillows, not two.


End file.
